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An article Richard Blin on "Photogenic shadows painted" (The Serial Number of Angels, November 2009)

Tropismes domestic

Playing masks and secrecy as of arbitrariness and dizziness picture is the beating of speech within itself that continued Moussempès Sandra in her new collection.

struggles with what she Moussempès Sandra? What erotic time and secrecy? What experiences divestiture? What will to wrest beauty from vertigo? How impossible? Remains of girl after (1997) and Screenshots (2004), the seven sequences that make up Photogenic shadows painted continue to examine the screens misleading appearance, instinct drives as binding and unbinding of every form of divergence and distortion at work in the triangle love, emptiness and language.

" A form of cast post-modern, the result of" vertigo Love " coupled with a perspective of reality and its image. A universe where everything is" matter of perception "and memory, " light body" and "small deconstructions" of projected images and effects of specularity, offset and watermark. The poems often have a heaven (in italics) and a earth (Roman), which are radiographs of the in-between (between father and daughter, man and woman, darkness and light, dream and reality of spectographs ...); the desire or the absence of precipitates feelings or scenes where " officiate at three in harmony " the ghosts of dreams, delusions and desire.

Lures and simulacra that put us both in touch and distance of a reality that consists of the singularity of moments snatched from reality, dreams, memories. Events ecstatic " related to deviance love " bursts of film noir, "illustrated evidence," evidence risky " all reports to the deprivation of each edited reality Directed ", dreams or opaque" mental matter. "A world where" fiction becomes every day more airtight "where" compatible desist princesses ", where" tasting of a fish skewered encourages all devotion, "where you can marvel at the" look "wonderful" to reproduction "and promises to spend promised, thanks to the rhinestones , the shrinking to the skin of each and even the obscure object of desire than " denial : formed into keystone .

As if reality did not cease to hide behind the illusion of reflections and illusions, representations or facticity production dreamlike images related to failures of the relationship as fantasies. As if behind these poetic crystallization point of view, these recordings of images, these conjugations of visible and invisible, smells and sounds of the language was seeking deliverance, experiencing an aesthetic of fragmentation, was forming a parallel story, playing with masks and avatars " REAL personality of the heroine."

Photogenic, which is born of light, where this beautiful song, Photogenic painted shadows, stressing that the beauty of ghost images, also suggested behind the vacillation of attendance, the weight of the occult. "What exactly poetry implodes or accepts: non-formulation of reality by its shimmering over matter." Between the imprint and trace the outside world and within its terrain, can be sensed and the circular shape of intoxicating everything in the realm of images of love still to learn.

From " only Japanese garden within sight "to" Kyoto elegies "-that is to say through this remote country and fantasy which Barthes said it is an empire where the signs are living in freedom-these are the splinters an impossible mythology of the self that gives us Moussempès Sandra. " Know that I am trying to hide something ." secrecy involved in this organic movement whose biography hear the vibration into the incongruous juxtapositions and the effects of symmetry offset that gives this collection its strange and beautiful deep thoughtful.


Richard Blin in the matriculation of Angels, November 2009


Photogenic shadows painted
Sandra Moussempès, Flammarion, 128 pages, 16 euros




See also:

Angèle Paoli An article on his website " Land of Women "
http://terresdefemmes.blogs.com/mon_weblog/2009/12/sandra-moussemp% C3% A8s-% C3% A9nie photog-of-shadows-peintes.html

A presentation of Fabrizio Thumerel site Libr-critique:
http://www.t-pas-net.com/libr-critique/?p=1502

section of Matthew Nuss:
http://www.t-pas-net.com/libr-critique/?p=2318


A proposal of Pierre Menard site Liminal
http://liminaire.fr/ spip / spip.php? article398


article by Jean-Marc Baillieu site Sitaudis:
http://www.sitaudis.fr/Parutions/photogenie-des-ombres-peintes-de-sandra- moussempes.php

article on Francesco Magris libr-critique:
http://www.t-pas-net.com/libr-critique/?p=1836

Matricule Article of the Angels:
http://www.lmda.net/din/tit_lmda.php?Id=62779

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third title of our "Those who walk against the wind"

THE ART OF LIVING WITH THE MAXIMUM MINIMUM JR Geyer (32 pages, 3 €). A wonderful little handbook, a great literary quality, the ability to live a very lightweight material consciousness optimal.

"It's been years, more precisely, for decades, almost a life that I practice the art of living up to the minimum these days, I intensified it. This means that when I am between my thumb and index finger a one euro coin, with the hemmed piece of copper hit the emblem of the country, I double the value or I will multiply by three or five or even ten; depending on the circumstances. I never buy at the price it costs the object, never. "

This book is a sort of Walden, or Life in the woods, the magnificent ode to Henry David Thoreau implemented in our urban forest, contemporary, its supermarket shelves, its markets for thrift, flea: in other words, how being poor and gourmet all at once, how to live in "a gilded misery, be satisfied without losing his zest for life, or how to win on the life that we want us to swallow, be richer by being poorer. "The unfriendly satiety," wrote the author, when we know the living conscience. "

JR Geyer: under this name hides a writer and a confirmed anti-social intending to stay.


Details on our collection "Those who walk against the wind", each volume includes a 24 or 32 pages and costs 3 €.

These are texts of direct intervention, written in consciousness, outside the dictates of any bias or ideological consensus, and under the auspices of Albert Camus who wrote, in spring 1954: "Governments, by definition, have no conscience. "Shots in heart reactions to hot small clinical records, very informed on hot topics (like I am a teacher and I disobey). Testimonies shifted, on literary topics of current (as The Lifestyle maximum with the minimum). Or, selected pages from texts unsung great authors (like, forthcoming, the money in for you to Marx) who seem to think contemporary.
And when we can, unreleased: the text by Jim Harrison from a debate with readers in Montpellier in 2005: Indian, my brother (April 2010).

Titles already published in this collection:

In the meantime, Reflections on the economic fascism, by John Berger (March 2009)
I am teacher and I disobeyed, by Bastien Cazals, school teacher (May 2009). This title remained for five weeks in the bestseller list;

Forthcoming: In February
:
Albert Camus and his libertarian critique of violence, by Lou Marino
Sartre and violence of the poor, by Yves K.

March:
Gypsies, Roma, Travellers, Eternity and after? by Claire Auzias (April 8 is International Day of Roma)

In preparation:
The crime of obedience, by François Roux, defense official at the International Court at The Hague.
I've seen people snort, by Patrick Chamoiseau, Prix Goncourt 1992.

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Thanks to all the readers I am a teacher and I disobeyed. Bastien's book is in its third printing. Five weeks on the bestseller list of L'Express. Continue to support and the book and the author for after the administrative court of Montpellier in his favor by denying that he retired from the days of salary, Luc Chatel, Minister of National Education, has appealed to the Council of State and Defense Costs are high ...

Letter Welcome Visitors Church

Am I the bubble of BD in three dots? (Damn hurtful memory) after

You're my pepper dishes, the cheese of my pasta, my pair of Stan Smith lying around somewhere, a plane ticket for I know not where! You're a
Antonioni film that I have not seen yet, a novel by Kundera that I read, the colors of a picture I will never forget.
You're as this newspaper that I slide under my arm to go play in the sun.
You're the play button I press, these vibrations that pass through me, this freedom restorative.
You are the ocean or sea that gives me too much to see, the mountain that lets go, then the sky that opens its arms wide, corny but true.
You are, although it is unimaginable, my king and my bird, the rest has more flavor.
Be all that, be yourself.
And be another plus.


That date, but it is still reads ...

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Anyone sell me a future of opportunity
Viera come my second hand in the face.
No room for doubt, no confusion, I will never walk
head down.

begged me to go, rather than falling away,
What not to follow any shepherd.
As if the bird took flight seventh heaven
At the slightest feather damaged ...

Yes, fall or even underground! To believe lower
That bland dreams too highly placed people who come forward to
not traced to their mastaba.

Happy who strays into the intricacies of the hour, not more
A tic-tact
padded his life to live so batifoleur noun!

What Does Scabs In Nose Lead Too?

Tomorrow is Equal in bullshit

Fuck these loving adults who require
politeness respect of the younger, content and form ...
Assured that rhymes with old wisdom.
Fuck them more when they are the norm.

The irreverence that I offer them at any age,
In mine, theirs, keep me well not die
That's right, aged by these long pages
What I toured around idly.

My only battle against my enemy Top
perched on my opinion, that binds me to the stake
Others call it ego, I call him a bitch
And pay the price, despite myself, to tumble.

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Glade lonely, I left you

September whores years in the jungle!
Seven years in the jungle whores!
throngs of vines sluts
A day after brushing my night, as only companies,
For a nice finish by hitting me! Whatever

flake, provided there is the cast, I made myself. Since
crocodile has confessed to me: "I took everything to my door!"
So I wore my idyll far burden to my chest. The
Martinique my refuge, I thought, that stopped my sled.

Off the princess and corrupt thoughts,
In near me breath of joy conquered.

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Go ahead

As I swam in mud and the dark view, discussed
Got my dreams, and gnawed the wheel pained
In my darkest nights and ash.
I see clear attempt by the exotic.

Bugler sounded, to start wiping exalts
Erotic sticks to the skin, rigorous safety!
New York, Paris, London, Tokyo and Rome rose
opens the road to then hunt asphalt
Or songs from beyond the grave parrot.

My words remain in motion that plague freezes
cares, biting rancid fixed and pour out.
Wandering, I dictate my course of action
What I am trying not to be followed by revenge.

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Roemak

of them back together I draw my bait
cod despite the moonlight.
One likes my poem, one poet
But if one had read it, would I be using one?


can not reveal the essence of a woman
What the back of the lowlands to the surface.

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Next issue TEACHER AND I AM I disobeyed by Bastien Cazals (in bookstores on May 21) 3 € ISBN No.: 978 - 2-911939-68-6


This book is the development of the Letter Addresses November 25, 2008 Bastien Cazals, school teacher, the President of the Republic, and who did a spokesman for the revolt cons school teachers increasingly managed as an enterprise and service market society. It is not a process of a professional civil disobedience but rather the reaction of a citizen who, in good conscience, decides to defend an idea of education inspired by the highest values Republic French and in the wake of figures such as the Resistance and Lucie Aubrac and Raymond Stéphane Hessel.

Author: Bastien Cazals, 33, was ranked by the magazine Les Inrockuptibles as one of the personalities that marked the year 2008. Some 3,000 teachers across France to recognize him and many others call him, like him, the States General to save the school.

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Dad ... Mwen enmé'w

far so good.
Just over there a little less.

Easy to be on the road in the distance, after a bye,
Knowing his own home alive.
returns seem to make the same image that initially
And that forever, no matter the day, no matter the month.

Or it is nice to be a leaf crown at the top. Receive
wind, sun, rain and guide a bit lower.
But when the roots begin to slowly fade, wither
We also join them before here and there.

The addition is wonderful because you can not be everywhere at once,
must therefore bear the weight, and choices.

Period Looseing Clear Fluid

men of the pen, women lead

I 'm a bit of wind
I can push you away
Or fall at the first instant.
me turn me back
Te push to end in a corner. Includes
that cling to a current of air fanned nor warms your machine feelings.
Hence the phrase:
get laid.

But beware the fall my Eve
In your cloud in your dream, you have to wait
rain or storm.
Or wait until another gust of wind does come blow your cloud.


I will stay in you a miss on the front.

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NEW COLLECTION "Those who walk against the wind" and NEW PUBLICATIONS







Native launches this month of March, a new collection: "THOSE WHO WALK AGAINST THE WIND "(whose name derives from the Omaha, a Plains Indian people of North America, next to the Sioux). Small incisive books, activists, to 3 euros from 24 to 32 pages maximum and who intend to promote a revolution of conscience. A revolution whose art is, and will, most loyal support: All titles will receive a contribution of a contemporary artist who creates a work resonates with the theme of book. Each title will thus be an edition "collector": 50 to 100 separate copies sold at an average price of 30 €, numbered from the hand of the editor, signed by the author and accompanied by a drawing of the original work signed by artist

We launch the collection with a title of the English writer John Berger, "In the meantime, Reflections on Economic Fascism" (in bookstores March 25, 2009).

The next title will be available in May: "I am a teacher and I disobey" Bastien Cazals.

Then, in September 2009: "The Lifestyle maximum with the minimum" JR Geyer, "The Constitution torn" by Stéphane Beaumond.

We also publish this March:

1. The exhibition catalog Bernard Buffet to be held from March 12 to June 14, 2009 Center Vieille Charité in Marseilles. For the first time, to mark the tenth anniversary of his death, a major French museum hosts a solo exhibition of the work of this painter, unloved because they are poorly known. Thanks to the stubbornness of his sole trader, Maurice Garnier, works for the most ever shown in France will be revealed to the public. We discover that, far beyond the fifties considered the best years of the painter, following decades conceal true masterpieces. Both in its communication strategy in its overproduction and creation a style that sometimes is the comics - fifteen or twenty years before the free figuration
- Buffet was a pioneer in many areas, but he had to suffer a real conspiracy of silence

The Author: Henry Perier, who holds a doctorate in art history, the biographer of Pierre Restany - the Pope of art criticism in the twentieth century - has provided, among others, the curator of the exhibition China The Corps throughout Chinese contemporary art at the MAC in Marseille in 2004. He has also organized numerous artistic events in France and abroad.

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Chassé-croisé

the distance I saw a bright light shining,
Close me, you're close to full speed.
think I allowed to govern your rudder stock,
Hoist, then slide down your sails.

Idiot one day, nice night, here is my nova
Venue thunder in my head like a missile.
It exploded: "I stay here, you you're leaving!"
me leaving her dowry: the whole world in exile ...

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Summer Clothes

two years without winter Lent approach
midnight meal seconds of a song by the glass
cars dance for us
repeated follow and does not really look like
but still we are here
rain away from all sides
party rinse the idea of happiness-impact back of the throat
Gap faces accomplice
I vomit my too full of fun
but still we are here
I saw my last-minute squabble water mud slut
God I was not created in your image
ctrl-x ctrl-v
summer clothes are my feet my head is our foot
but still we are here
then walk back door on the street of death impioks
Every day we send its signals
white hair tibia holed wrinkle of a smile
your fingers crackle light as foam
but still we are here
I finish my book travel page 12
mine pencil pencil pencil
I'll gum my frontal cortex pumice pilate
my bare feet are planted in asphalt
but still we are tired


But so are we.
But still, us!
But still.
But both ... But
. But
.
.

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imitations of me Your mouth swishing a truism
What j'ois, good Myrmidon decrepit as I am, I fly
Flying Squirrel In Attic
offer and ataraxia Thy soul right on!

Your ex-crushes of simpleton nonsense
By his rigmarole, I give him a witticism.
His head, a nine yards, I just explode.
Apollo! What arpeggio jazzy harmonies!

finish the aria, outcast, I go to my lovely. Finish
dilection, let's body
Donzelle, cools me a épactase

If I offer love, let thee dumb, then ecstasy
Puisqu'indéfectiblement
I will table the ampersand us .

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ALBERT CAMUS AND INDIA By Sharad Chandra translation Sylvie Crossman

Native editions / distribution Harmonia Mundi

Who knew that Camus, thanks to Jean Grenier, a professor of philosophy at Algiers - it same translator of Sanskrit - had read the Bhagavad-Gita ; he kept, hanging in the living room of his house in Lourmarin, a painting of Tara, the mother of all Buddhas? Had there been, in books of the writer, the numerous references to key texts and authors of Indian philosophy, practices meditation Hindu ascetics, yogis of Tibet? And we suspected that all foreign playwrights, author of Caligula was the most played today on the Indian scenes, Madras, New Delhi ?

The merit of this book by Sharad Chandra is not only to remind us all that, but to invite us to reread the Stranger, The Myth of Sisyphus, The Plague, Wedding .. . in this light: much more than influence, a convergence between the work of the great French writer and Oriental philosophers, followers of "holiness without God."

Sharad Chandra , born in 1943 in Jaipur, now lives in New Delhi. Academic, poet, she is the translator, Hindi, Albert Camus, but also Claude Simon, Jean Paul Sartre and Michel Deon, Grand Prix of French influence of the French Academy in 1993, she was a founding member of Society for human values and universal responsibility, in New Delhi.

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Taken from "My writings on the other .."

Writings of Claude Cahen, edition presented and established by Francis Leperlier (ed. Jean-Michel Place)

"The important thing is to be a princess," says Claude Cahen in its mini fairy tales not always fairy rather strangulées in a greenhouse-style exposed in debris nodes. Tiny frames, scissors for cutting away excess, sew in reverse, allow deadlocks. Claude Cahen loved to photograph (that we know of it) to paint, sealing, but a painful love, a rout his whole being. His writing is a long time left on the floor, away from the mirrors, with a scout, his uncle Marcel Schwob author among others of the "Lamp of Psyche". She sees "careerist of the soul" refrains from being too present. The writing is sharp as a sharp needle. All for a duchess obsolete, abandoned the curious skull (views and visions of camps decimated). Lucy Renée Mathilde Claude renamed as the other George. It answers the question biased "Individualism? Narcissism? Course. It's my best trend, the only intentional loyalty which I am capable." Between turns political chiseled poems and some rare photographs. We must dig deep to find the thread, step into the enormous storage: On man: "My prince charming is none other than God the Father." On the Superman: "I like [...] forever disembodied God the Son." On God: "The word God is necessary as is".
It describes the arrival of prisoners in a Nazi camp "the body deprived of clothing, hair" (as in its future self-portrait). In the last text, it evokes: "Every inhabitant of the country without mirrors," a concise prose and complex: "To me, to you, we alons lurched my personal pronoun hateful." And discovered, "reflecting my life tragic life trivial.
Beyond any political or aesthetic commitment, as a woman and artist of many talents, Claude Cahen questions the fluid voice of nothingness.

Sandra Moussempès, column published in Cahiers Reviews Poetry 5 (CIPM).

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Hush! A riddle ...

When my name, I disappear!
Who am I?

Answer (original) in the spluttering ...

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Crossings

Presentation of "29 Women an Anthology", Paris, 1994, the first seat from the right

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skin-border travel

your body my body back to their homeland
to find the strength to rise elsewhere
wandering in my book you shut your mouth
being or not being born watermark
condition and opens the trace of your body my body
the trace marks the time useless
winds frangipani leaf is the way most innate
.

do not break me.
the old negritude putrefy and whip
then slap my hands smell of youth
your body my body-child body-body capsule-sponge
reborn body-body-calcined
famine.
and then and then smells mingle
your body my body and then nothing after all
abandonment offers a taste of cherry-country because I
because I do not know much
body-lock body-bamboo body
itching flowing and you start to hate me I love your
body my body it amuses me
fucking checkbook body-body-cedilla
and sunny this time monocle
love everything apart polarized
passport to life what a laugh fatality isalope

winds embraces my body contortion
you shiver
flesh happy
body-flesh
sake
saliva
the envy of molten
sleep in a cave to sleep in the pink

Dew-pink body

body-fogged.
I thought I could achieve
deceive the world by repeating error
I go rhythm and feel as calm and forest tired you close your mouth and is
is what I tell myself not more
.

.
it is quiet luxury

volute and velvety.
I do not believe random chance

trust me your body my body and mind of someone else

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hydraulic

and my journey begins with rain water
journey like no tears rise
I just learn from her "unstoppable" momentum changes
it rises within me lifts me
I freeze my door and slipped
there is a frontier I Forgotten
changes state by changing country
it is more concerned with life
me either saline
defeat defeated defeating